Broken Pieces
by gingergen
Summary: The last time she'd seen Sebastian Vale, he had threatened to raze Kirkwall to the ground. He had left in a rage, to retake Starkhaven at last. It did not look as though he had succeeded. / Post DA2. Adventure/friendship/romance/eventual polyamory. / Hawke and Fenris are in hiding when they're discovered by an old friend.
1. Chapter 1

Violet Hawke browsed the shelves of the dry goods shop in the town of Milton Hill, weighing the length of the walk home against how soon she wanted to return. Flour was heavy, but she had a weakness for fresh bread. Caught up in her calculations, she was startled when the shop door banged open behind her, followed by the sound of angry voices. There were at least three of them, heading straight towards her with a clatter of heavy footsteps. She stiffened, fighting the urge to use her staff. Magic might bring the whole town down on her; it was better to avoid suspicion if at all possible. Should she try to talk her way out of this, or make a run for it?

Before she'd decided on an approach the men were intercepted by the shopkeeper, who greeted them kindly but firmly, asking their business. Hawke sidled around the edge of the wooden shelves, putting the heavy furniture between herself and the others before turning to look. Laborers, if you believed their rough clothes and dirty boots — but who were they really? She'd certainly never seen them before. Milton Hill was small, but situated as it was right on the Minanter it saw a fair amount of traffic. She considered slipping behind the counter and through the door to Mistress Hendry's living quarters — could she do it fast enough to make a clean getaway? Before she could decide, the woman led the strangers to the opposite side of the shop. Vi stopped to listen and realized the argument had been over a piece of broken farm equipment. The men's voices grew calmer as Margaret Hendry led them towards the hinges and other hardware. None of them so much as glanced at her.

They hadn't been looking for Hawke at all.

She sucked in a slow, deliberate breath before moving as casually as possible back in the direction of the flour.

Later, as Mistress Hendry measured and wrapped up her purchases, she fidgeted impatiently. Usually Vi enjoyed her visits to the shop — Margaret Hendry was good natured woman with a flair for storytelling — but today she had a hard time staying focused on her words. The encounter earlier had thrown her; she was getting as suspicious and antsy as Fenris.

"And how's that elf of yours?" Mistress Hendry asked, cutting through Hawke's thoughts almost as if she'd heard them.

_He's not _my_ elf._ Vi's lips tightened, but she forced them into a smile. "He's fine. We've finally finished re-shingling the roof."

"You've certainly been giving that sad old place some much needed attention. Jack Faulkner has never been so lucky as when you showed up to rent his Mam's cottage," the shopkeeper beamed. "No one'd set foot in the place for years."

"Except the mice," said Vi. "My old dog would have had quite a time chasing them all out." Her smile turned wistful. Leaving Penny behind had been hard. But she was getting so old; far better the hound spend her golden years by Aveline's hearth than on the run, sleeping on the cold ground. Besides, mabari were rare in the Free Marches, and more than a little conspicuous.

"But," she said, pulling her thoughts together with an effort, "with the pests cleaned out and the roof repaired, it should be snug enough to get us through the winter." She hoped. At least the place was cheap — the landlord was a local farmer, and she'd managed to negotiate a significantly reduced rent in exchange for the work they were doing to fix the house up.

"Oh, you've plenty of time yet," said Mistress Hendry with a wave of her hand. "The rain won't really start 'til Firstfall this far north. And the mountains hold back the worst of the storms, in any case."

"That's one thing I won't miss about Ferelden!" Hawke lied with a smile. Fereldans were common enough after the Blight that she'd decided not to try to hide her heritage. She just neglected to mention the time she'd spent in Kirkwall. "Six months of winter, and another three of mud." She smiled as she gathered up her packages. "See you in a week or so."

"I'll be heading out to Ansburg in a few weeks," said Mistress Hendry. "But 'til then, I'll be here. Bring that handsome elf with you next time. Such lovely manners he has."

Vi managed not to snort audibly until she was out on the street.

#

She squinted as she came out from under the orchard trees along the border of the Faulkner farm, the late afternoon sun hot on her face. She was still grimacing over Margaret Hendry's appreciation for Fenris' manners. He'd always been polite enough in town, it was true. But his temper had never been placid under the best of circumstances, and lately he'd been snappish and irritable. Life in the country just didn't suit him. They'd fought the night before, when she'd tried to persuade him — again — to take a break and get away for a while. He could easily travel downriver to Ansburg, or perhaps even north to Antiva. But however often she suggested it, he always refused — insisting he had a job to do. Violet couldn't bring herself to tell him she'd welcome the chance to be left alone for a little while. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. Nor could she fault him for clinging to her for purpose, though she did sometimes wonder if it was the best idea for either of them. She reminded herself she was lucky he wanted to be around her at all, after everything that had happened.

In the end, there were other reasons not to push him away. Fenris was nearly as hunted as she… and far more recognizable. In the unassuming clothes of a farm girl, her fair hair darkened with walnut husks, no one questioned Violet's presence in Milton Hill. Small town life was as familiar to her as an old set of clothes, while Fenris' striking appearance invited questions. But she couldn't leave him alone to face the consequences of what had happened in Kirkwall — not when it had been her fault. Besides, she had no intentions of standing idly by if more Tevinter magisters came calling. As a pair, they could defend themselves better… even if on low-risk occasions she preferred to leave him behind.

Concerns about Fenris aside, she knew the cottage had been a lucky find. The house was set back several miles from the main road, which meant few travelers came past. The locals went about their business — mostly farming — and didn't mix much with their neighbors. But the town was reachable by foot and featured a small river port. Merchants traveling the Minanter between Ansburg and Starkhaven often stopped in for a pint and a proper bed before re-boarding the riverboat on their way to one of the larger towns, bearing news as well as merchandise. It was an ideal location — out of the way without being entirely out of touch. So here they were, living quietly and frugally in the Breadbasket of the Free Marches, while outside the world searched for the infamous Hawke.

When she wasn't up fixing roof or walking to the village, Vi spent her daylight hours in the garden; she'd dug up half the yard, transplanting and sowing seeds, and had managed to mostly rescue what had once been an extensive herb garden from tangling weeds and neglect. An occasional smile crossed her lips as she wondered what the residents of Kirkwall would think about the scion of the Amell family up to her elbows in the dirt. With all the exercise she was sleeping well — far better than she ever had in Kirkwall.

Climbing the cottage steps, she carefully balanced her packages, freeing one hand just enough to turn the knob on the door. Pushing it open, she stepped inside. The path had been empty behind her — so, squinting slightly in concentration, she used a bit of force magic to nudge the door closed.

"Violet?" called a gravelly voice, just before Fenris poked his head out of the front room. He always seemed to feel it when she used magic. Or maybe he'd just heard the door close.

It was still strange to hear him call her by her first name, but she kind of liked it. Varric had started the trend of calling her Hawke, but she'd always felt a bit like he must be looking for her father. Still, it was convenient now that so few people in Kirkwall had ever known her full name.

Fenris looked a bit grim; she realized with a pang that they hadn't spoken since last night. She tried to keep her voice light and casual.

"It's me, safe and sound and in one piece." The cottage was not large — it was only a few steps to reach the doorway where he stood.

"I don't suppose there's wine in any of those packages?" He seemed willing to match her tone. Her answering smile was partly one of relief.

"Trust me for that." She tipped the topmost parcel toward him slightly, gesturing with her not-quite-free hand. He reached up and took it from her.

"You might want to open a bottle — we've got a letter," she said. "I'll be back as soon as I've put some of these things away and started dinner."

#

Letters from Varric were a complicated matter. He insisted he didn't want to know exactly where they were; so one of his contacts would bring a package from Kirkwall to a tavern in Ansburg addressed to one Messere Maurevar. It was then up to Vi to convince or pay a farmer or merchant who traveled that way to pick up the letters, or to go herself. Vi's brother Maurevar, she explained to her hired messengers, was head clerk to a merchant and had been dragged off on a voyage to Seheron.

Should the courier prove nosey and peek into the package, they would find a very official looking letter from one Varric Tethras, author, thanking Messere Maurevar for his kind inquiries and offering in reply a few pages from the next chapter of his forthcoming novel _Kestrel in Flight_. Varric hid or encoded whatever information he wished Vi and Fenris to have into the body of the chapter.

She wasn't sure which he enjoyed more, the challenge of hiding information in the frame of the story, or forcing them to actually read one of his novels — a thing both of them had always adamantly refused to do. Honestly, she was unconvinced that this final layer of deception was necessary… or even particularly deceptive. _Kestrel? Really?_ she thought for the twentieth time as she added vegetables and water to the chicken she'd been browning. She loved to bake but had never particularly enjoyed cooking; perhaps Fenris was so cross because he was tired of soup. If that was the case, he could do some cooking himself… though she had a hard time imagining he would. He might appreciate the finer things, but not enough to learn to reproduce them on his own. She smiled into the pot as she stirred. He saved his energy for what was important. She could respect that.

By the time she returned to the front room, Fenris had opened the wine and poured her half a glass, setting it on the low table between the armchairs. He had returned to his reading, his own glass cradled in his palm. A glance told her he was buried in his well-worn copy of the Chant. Benedictions, if she wasn't mistaken.

She settled into the other armchair and took a sip of her wine before cracking the wax seal on the letter. She leafed through the pages as quickly as she could. This month's installment was a lurid account of Candy Pentagram and Sister Songbird and their adventures through the Blooming Orchid in pursuit of one blond vixen named Kestrel. They found and spoke to many interesting people, but none of them had, alas, turned out to know anything about the lady they sought. Eventually they gave up the search and boarded a ship for Antiva.

"Really, it's like he isn't even trying," she said, tossing the pages onto the table. They skidded to a stop within an inch of Fenris' fingers. He didn't so much as twitch.

"What does it say?" he asked.

"I'm not telling," she said, taking a gulp of her wine. It was drinkable, though naturally not up to the standards of Fenris' old cellar in Kirkwall. She might be relatively well off even now, but she wasn't going to waste her money on wines like that, even if she could get them in Milton Hill… which she decidedly could not.

"I'm not going to suffer alone," she continued. "You have to read it yourself. Do you really think he'll publish these someday?"

"Unfortunately, I have little doubt of it," said Fenris, reluctantly closing his book and picking up the papers.

"Isabela might have helped him this time. His prose is even more purple than usual," she said.

She sat back and watched Fenris read, tracing his progress by the lift or furrow of his eyebrows.

#

Eventually he set down the papers with a grunt. "So the Seekers have been looking for you in Kirkwall."

"That's what I took it to mean, yes."

"It is good that we left Antiva City."

"I miss Isabela and her… entertaining companions, but I agree — it's better we didn't stay. The Seekers aren't likely to be looking for us out here in the middle of nowhere. Though we should probably avoid Ansburg for a bit, just to be safe."

"The last part, though," said Fenris.

"You noticed too? So much emphasis on how everyone was gone and the coast was clear. I almost thought he was inviting us back."

Fenris looked about to reply, but instead turned his head, listening. Vi set down her wine and stepped out into the hall, catching up her staff on the way. She could have sworn — yes, there it was again, a bit louder this time. The tapping came from the back door. She moved quietly to the kitchen at the back of the house, her bare feet making hardly any sound on the worn floorboards. She put her ear close to the door, listening. In the hallway, Fenris was buckling on his gauntlets with a scowl. Once his last buckle was fastened and she'd heard nothing from outside but the shuffling of a single pair of feet, Vi took a deep breath.

"Who is it?" she said through the door.

"It's Maddy," said a young, anxious voice.

"Maddy?" echoed Vi, turning the lock and pulling the door wide to reveal the landlord's daughter. Maddy, or more properly Madeline, was just fourteen; she was out of breath and her reddish blonde hair was falling out of its customary braid. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Serrah — we're all okay, thank you. It's just… I thought you should know." She looked back over her shoulder, but there was no one there that Vi could see. "There's a man, a stranger, bothering people in the neighborhood. He was just up at the farmhouse — Da found him lurking under the windows when he came home from market. He was looking for someone, he said, and he wouldn't go away. We had to set the dogs on him."

"I see," she said, exchanging a look with Fenris. "Did he go after that?"

"Maybe not far. He seemed very upset."

"Then you certainly shouldn't be out alone. Why don't you come inside and —"

"Oh no, Serrah, I have to get back. My parents don't know I've gone. I just… I wanted you to know. He was…" She bit her lip. "He was asking for Hawke."

"I'll go." Fenris didn't wait for a response; he simply shouldered his way past the girl and out into the growing dusk.

"Maddy," said Vi gravely, "why did you think we should know that?"

The girl flushed and looked down.

"When Father brought the letter for your brother that time — he said it was from Varric Tethras. His stories about Hawke are famous. There's an elf with tattoos in them, and…" She looked up warily. "When you let your hair grow out, it's almost blonde underneath. Just like Hawke's."

Vi bit back a curse. Instead, she smiled at the girl. "Aren't you a little young to be reading Ser Tethras' books?"

The girl dimpled. "My cousin from Ansburg lends me her copies," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "My parents don't know; I keep them hidden under the mattress."

"Well, if you can keep your clever observations to yourself, I won't say a word. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, Serrah."

"Then run on home — quick as you can, before someone misses you."

The smile dropped from Vi's face as she watched the girl scamper away into the orchard. They were going to have to move on again. And after she'd spent all that time replanting the garden, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Vi sat chewing her thumbnail, perched on the arm of Fenris' chair. He'd been gone for over half an hour. Fenris could take down a single man easily; he could take a group of them with proper preparation. But he hadn't stopped to fetch his sword before he went and he wasn't back. She couldn't shake the feeling that it had been some kind of trap.

She stood up abruptly as she heard the door open, then shut firmly. Two sets of footsteps walked down the hall towards her — one quiet, the other shuffling and uneven. She grabbed her staff from where it leant against the wall behind her and prepared a lightning spell.

"It's me," said Fenris. His voice sounded gruff and strange. He came through the doorway with a lurch, one gauntlet tightly wrapped around the arm of a lanky, disheveled man with reddish-brown hair and stooped posture. The man's clothes were dirty and nondescript; his eyes, when he raised them from the floor, were shockingly blue.

Fenris dragged him forward into the room. As soon as he let go, the visitor dropped to his knees, then hissed in pain and slumped over to one side. He took a shuddering breath and glanced up.

"I've been looking for you," he said, his once-melodic voice rough and hoarse. 

The last time she'd seen Sebastian Vael, he had threatened to raze Kirkwall to the ground, destroying Anders, Hawke, and anyone else who stood in his way. Then he had left in a rage to retake Starkhaven, after years of indecision.

It did not look as if he had succeeded. He wore neither his customary white armor nor his grandfather's bow; instead he was clothed in plain linen and a leather vest, all of which were torn and liberally coated in mud. His shoes were worn and looked a size too small, and his hair hung long and lank against his cheeks. He was far too thin, and seemed unable to meet her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. 

Vi was completely at a loss. She looked to Fenris; he was scowling uncertainly and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It was up to her, then. She cleared her throat and swallowed.

"Why are you here?"

"I was on my way to Kirkwall," Sebastian said. He sounded exhausted but calm. "I never thought to find you so close."

"I'm not exactly welcome in Kirkwall these days. How _did_ you find us?"

"Chance. A man down by the river dock mentioned an elf with white tattoos. I thought it might be Fenris… and if he were here, you would be also."

"What happened in Starkhaven?"

"I was never fit to be a prince, it seems." His lips twisted in disgust.

"So they kicked you out? And then you came looking for me."

"I thought you might… help end it."

The silence grew as his words sunk in.

"You tracked me expecting me to kill you?" she asked finally, her voice thick with disbelief.

"If you will not, tell me where to find Anders," he said tiredly. "I have little doubt he would be pleased to do it."

She took two swift steps toward him and yanked his head up by the hair, forcing him to look at her. Her fingertips buzzed and the hair on her arms rose. If she didn't get herself under control, the electricity would pulse through her fingertips and shock him. She wasn't sure she cared. She'd helped him, supported him — Maker take her, she'd called him a friend. And he'd turned on her and left, at the start of the most horrific battle she'd ever faced, because she wasn't willing to murder Anders in cold blood.

Her fingers tightened and she shook him, the way she'd wanted to back then. He didn't resist; somehow that made it worse.

"Violet." Fenris' voice was tight and sharp.

She let go. Sebastian's gaze dropped, blank, back towards the floor.

"This is about Anders then," she accused. "You're still chasing him after all this time. Even if I knew where he was, what makes you think I would tell you?"

"It isn't about Anders," he said dully.

"What then? What happened in Starkhaven?"

He did not answer. He simply sat where he had fallen, his eyes on her bare feet.

"Sebastian," she said sharply. "What happened?"

"I was too late. Hardly anyone cared about my family anymore. People who trusted me died." He sounded very tired. "I came here to find an end, Hawke."

Vi looked over at Fenris. His eyes were dark and his hands flexed as though he wanted to tear something apart.

"I suppose turning him out isn't an option," she said.

His frown intensified.

"I know. I know." She ran her hands through her hair. "I guess… get him some food. If he'll eat it." Sebastian sat on the floor as though he hadn't heard them, his eyes on the rug. "More importantly, draw him a bath. I… I have to think."

Fenris was already heading for the door. "I'll start heating the water."

Sebastian still said nothing.

"So," said Vi. He didn't move.

"Sebastian," she said, a bit louder. He looked up. "Do you have another shirt?"

Sebastian blinked at her, then frowned as he realize she expected an answer. "What?"

"Where are your things? Do you have a bag? Other clothes?" She looked him over. "Nothing of Fenris' will fit you. His shirts will be too short even if you could get them over your shoulders, which I doubt."

He looked down at the floor, as though he expected to find a pack at his feet.

"Ah. I did have… but I seem to have misplaced it."

"I did not see anything in the fields," called Fenris from the kitchen.

"Fine," Violet sighed. "I'll see if I have anything."

When she returned, Fenris had chivvied Sebastian into the kitchen, where he fussed over the kettles of water on the fire. If there was anything Violet missed about Kirkwall, it was dwarven plumbing. Baths in the cottage involved hauling a lot of water from the pump outside and heating it on the kitchen hearth.

A bowl of soup sat untouched in front of Sebastian. She couldn't tell if he was looking at it or if it just happened to be in the way; she decided it was likely the latter. His eyes were half closed. Fenris had lit the lanterns against the growing dark; she could see that Sebastian's cheek was dark with the scraggly beginnings of a beard. Violet had never seen him unshaven, beyond the hint of shadow that clung to his cheek at the end of a long day — even on the few overnight trips they'd taken to the Wounded Coast, he had always contrived to shave, no matter how rough and rudimentary their camp. She understood, now that she could see how little it suited him. Thin and patchy, it made him look young even with threads of gray running through it.

Slumped at the kitchen table, he stared off into space, his hands resting flat on the tabletop. Vi had always admired his hands — long graceful fingers with meticulously maintained nails, the fingers callused but never rough. She suspected he'd used oil to soften them — a decadent habit for a Chantry brother, though not for a former prince of Starkhaven. Now his nails were dirty and broken, the cuticles ragged, the skin at his knuckles cracked and dry. A torn edge of bandage peeked out from under his sleeve.

Violet set the clothes in her arms on an empty chair and came over to touch his wrist.

"What happened here?" she asked.

"They intended to break it," he said dully.

"I imagine they did. An archer with only one hand isn't much of a threat. Can I see your dagger?"

He didn't question her, simply reached down with his other hand and pulled a blade from his belt, handing it to her hilt first. He looked up as he did so, as though it had occurred to him she might stab him with it. He didn't seem worried, only mildly curious.

She used the blade to cut through the top layer of bandage and handed it back to him. He sheathed it slowly as she unwrapped his wrist. The skin was whole but purplish, warm to the touch and swollen. She wrapped her fingers around the bruised area, concentrating. Tendon, muscle, bone. Not badly broken — a fracture and a sprain, which must have been painful enough. The tendons were stretched and torn. Vi was no spirit healer, but she closed her eyes and focused her magic, letting it flow between her hands and through his arm, repairing the bone, stitching sinews back together. When she finished with his wrist, she pulled his chair farther from the table and knelt down to look at his knee — the one that had made him gasp earlier. His pants were torn and bloodied — she pulled the remains of the fabric aside for a closer look. He had tangled with brambles or fencing, and there were several deep cuts that were threatening infection. She ignored those for now — they'd be easier to deal with after they'd been cleaned. Laying her fingers on his skin, she focused on what lay beneath — more torn ligaments and pulled sinews.

By the time the bath water was warm, she'd been able to repair the worst of the damage. She was mostly out of energy now anyway. She had no access to lyrium potions out here; further healing would have to wait until morning. When she got slowly to her feet, she found Sebastian staring at her, brow furrowed and jaw tight. Fenris was suddenly between them, before either could speak.

"Come," he said, pulling Sebastian out of the chair. "Time for a bath."

She watched him half pry, half lift the archer to his feet, sliding his arm around the man's waist to gently guide him down the hall to the small room they used as a bathing chamber.

Violet was abruptly and uncomfortably aware that it had been weeks since Fenris had so much as touched her hand.

#

_Violet is carrying a bucket. As she looks up, she sees the sun is bright and golden all around her, dotting the ground before her with flecks of yellow and white and gilding the tops of the distant trees. To her left, a small wooden house stands, the walls gleaming with new whitewash. To her right is a vast vegetable garden. It's Lothering, she realizes. Of course it is. And it's her turn to bring in the water for Mother. Shifting the bucket slightly, the worn wood smooth against her palm, she begins the walk to the well, at the far end of the garden. The path dips up and down unpredictably, so she keeps her eyes lowered, watching her feet. _

_Once all the water is in, she'll be free to play. What should she do today? Maybe she can sneak out into the woods to practice the new spells Papa's been teaching her. He was very firm about not practicing in front of the others, not yet. It's too dangerous. He says she needs to learn control. _

_'Control is a mage's first duty, pup,' he says. 'Control is what keeps the demons at bay.' _

_Violet frowns. He's always on about demons. It's boring, and it's not fair. She wants to show Mother what she can do. She wants to see Carver turn green with envy. The thought of the face he'll make when he realizes she can call actual lightning makes her snort a little, as the breeze tickles the back of her neck and ruffles her skirt around her ankles. _

_When Violet looks up, she sees a young girl on the path ahead. Her dark hair drips with water, and she's staring off across the garden, eyes fixed on something far in the distance. Violet drops her bucket and begins to run. _

_"Beth! Beth!" she calls. _

_The girl looks back and smiles. _

_Violet skids to a stop before her sister — she is small, so small, and Violet has to kneel down to look into her face. Bethany is dripping with water, but the ground beneath her feet is dry. _

_"Where have you been?" Violet asks. "I haven't seen you in… in days." She doesn't realize this is true until the words are out of her mouth. _

_"I came back," Bethany says, smiling sweetly. _

_"But why are you so wet?" asks Violet. She can feel herself frown. Has she fallen into the pond again? She got sick last time; something in the water, Mother said. Or maybe it was just a chill. _

_"The ice melted," Bethany says, as though it should be obvious. _

_Before Violet can ask what she means the wind kicks up, blowing her hair into her eyes. _

_When she shakes it away, they are standing on a dirt road. There is nothing for miles but stone and torn earth. Bethany is older now. Her hair is still wet. Her hands are cool and strong as she slides Violet's fingers between her own, lacing them together like they used to do when they are little. Her palms are damp. _

_"I came back," she says again. "Like we promised — we'd always be together."_

_Violet swallows. There is a reason this isn't right, but she can't remember what it is. _

_"We'll all come back," Bethany says, her voice confident and warm. "One at a time, we're all making our way back to you, Vi."_

_Violet tears her hands away from the long talons of the demon. _

_"No!" she cries, and wakes. _

#

Vi pushed her way up to a sitting position, pulling her sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. Her heart was pounding, and she felt strangely out of breath.

_Stop_, she told herself. _You're awake now, in your own bed, in your own house. It's safe_. Slowly, her breath returned to normal. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark figure hovering near the door. Not sure at first if it was just a lingering figment of her dream, she shifted, peering into the darkness.

But he was really there. Hair hanging over his face, her own robe half open across his chest — he started when she moved and moonlight flashed on the blade in his hand.

"Sebastian?" she asked softly, sliding her legs free of the covers — just in case. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry, Hawke," his voice quavered out of the dark. "But I can't — you won't… I can't do this anymore." He twitched forward.

Instinctively, Violet called a sleep spell. She mostly avoided doing magic without her staff — she found it difficult to focus and control her spells that way. Sebastian was too close, though, and there was no time. She tried not to hit him too hard, but he rocked back on his heels from the impact. She slid out of bed just in time to catch him before he hit the floor. His knife dropped from nerveless fingers, skittering away under the bed.

#

Fenris opened his eyes. His attic room was dim, as always, but it was clearly morning from the way the light flowed up the open stairway. He sat up slowly, rolling tension from shoulders which should have been more at ease after a full night's rest. The reasons came back to him quickly. Sebastian Vael. Discovery by the neighbor's girl. A letter from Varric about Seekers. More than enough to worry about. He swung his feet to the floor, slid into his clothes and climbed down the ladder.

The house was silent. He frowned. Violet was a morning person; it was not unusual for her to be out by the time he rose, but on this day the possibility concerned him. A faint thrum of magic pulled at his brands, and he strode quickly down the hall. When he reached the front room, he found Vi had locked Sebastian in with a ward of some kind. He scowled. _Magic_. Why could she not use the lock like a regular person? Then he remembered — Sebastian could pick locks. He was not as skilled as Varric perhaps, but able enough that a door latch would do little to restrain him.

He still did not like it. He leaned close to the door to try to hear if Sebastian were awake and trapped — but the magic thrummed in his ears and made his markings ache. He stepped back, shaking his head to clear it. He could not get close enough without using his lyrium. He heard nothing, and Violet may have had reasons for what she'd done. He would wait.

When she finally returned, he had re-kindled the fire in the kitchen hearth and was heating water. He recognized the sound of her step on the back porch before she swung the door open.

"Is that tea?" she asked, shutting the door behind her and setting a basket on the table. "I could use some."

Fenris pressed his lips together and pulled two more mugs from the cupboard.

"Now that you are back, I suppose you might release our guest," he said.

"You're grumpy about having a ward in the house," she said ruefully. "Did it set you off? Sorry. I thought it best to keep him contained."

"You thought he would pick the lock? In his state? He could barely walk."

"I haven't seen 'his state' this morning," she said avoiding his gaze and bending down to pull a pan from a lower cupboard. "I was thinking of the neighbors. They've seen plenty to make them suspicious already. I went to talk to them, in fact. Had a bit of a time trying to come up with a reason to visit this early that wouldn't be suspicious. The best I could do was eggs." She made a vague gesture to the basket before setting the skillet on the hob. She opened the butter crock and scooped some into the pan to melt. "They've not seen anything else suspicious – they believe the dogs chased him off. Maddy is the only one who's made the connection so far."

"It is only a matter of time." The kettle finally started to boil; he poured water into the teapot and set it aside to steep.

"I'm afraid you're right," she said. "We have to move on. The question is, what are we going to do about… our guest, as you call him?"

"Wake him for breakfast?" He was impatient with her inclination to keep Sebastian caged. Surely he needed help and food, not to be locked up.

"Not just yet," she said, pulling several eggs from the basket and cracking them into the pan. "Cut some bread, would you?"

He frowned, but decided to do as she asked rather than argue. By the time bread and butter were on the table and the tea was poured, the eggs were done. She slid them onto plates and joined him at the table. She did not eat immediately, toying with the bread and butter instead. Fenris did not wait. It was not every day they had eggs, and there was no sense in letting them grow cold. He was halfway finished before she spoke.

"He came to my room last night. With a knife."

He froze, fork in the air.

"I don't think he really would have hurt me," she added. "He waited for me to wake up on my own, for one thing. But he's… something is seriously wrong. I don't think we can leave him alone. But I don't like the idea of bringing him wherever we end up, either."

Fenris set the fork down carefully and pushed his chair back from the table. Obviously something was wrong; he'd known that as soon as he'd realized who the intruder was. Sebastian had been frantic, wild-eyed and muddy — he hadn't even recognized the man until his hand was already inside his chest. Thank Andraste he had realized in time — he might easily have killed his friend, and he would have had no mage to blame. But to attack Hawke…

And Fenris had slept through it. Was this how he protected her? He stood and began to pace.

Violet's eyes followed him around the room as she ate.

"I took his dagger before I left him last night," she said. "His belt is locked in my dresser."

"You think he is serious about taking his own life." Sebastian had been emotional; he had thought it was only that.

"I think he's considering it, now that he's accepted I won't do it for him. I spelled him to sleep — maybe things will be better when he wakes. Only I doubt it. First he lost his family, then Elthina and Kirkwall, and now Starkhaven." She put down her fork to run her hand over her forehead. "That's a lot for anyone to deal with. In the meantime, not only did he manage to find us, he's been shouting my name all around the neighborhood — we'll have to go somewhere, before word spreads."

"And this too is my fault," Fenris said shortly.

"None of it…" she began.

"It is. If I had not been recognized, this never would have happened. Perhaps I should have left after all."

"Would you rather that Sebastian was out there somewhere alone?" she asked quietly.

No. He definitely would not want that. Rather than answer, he spun on his heel and left the house.


	3. Chapter 3

When he woke, Sebastian's mind was curiously blank. He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, wooden beams crossing plastered panels. His eyes traced down the shelf-lined walls, filled alternately with books and bottles and stoppered jars of herbs, before coming to rest on the closed wooden door. It pulsed with magic — in the dim light he could just see the orange-yellow glow of a sealing ward. He sat bolt upright as it came back to him, his fingers grabbing at his scalp as though he could pull the memory free by the roots. He had found Hawke. He was in her house. He had tried to kill her last night.

Not really. He would never truly harm her, he had only hoped… But instead of attacking him, she had healed his wounds and made him welcome in her house. His half-formed plan had been unravelling before his eyes, and he'd thought… he had only meant to provoke her, to give her the excuse she must be looking for.

Though that was bad enough, in the clear light of day. One more terrible mistake to add to his tally.

And truly, he should have known better than to think he could fool her. He remembered the pity in her eyes before the flash of light that had jolted his limbs and dimmed his sight. After that he had no memory until this moment.

The very normalcy of the room rebuked him. His clothes had been washed and were hanging before the empty hearth, his shoes set neatly together close by. He was wearing Hawke's own robe, and slept on a couch under a hand-knit blanket of blue wool. Before he'd risen, there had been a pillow beneath his head. Other than the ward on the door there was nothing to indicate that he was not a welcome guest. He glanced at the window above him. The curtains were drawn to keep out the light, but when he pulled them aside the casement was only latched, not sealed with bars or magic. The ward on the door was not meant to keep him prisoner; it was to keep Hawke safe from further intrusion.

He should go. He could vanish now and never have to face her again. He stood and was reminded suddenly of his badly blistered feet. A few tentative steps told him that while his knee was much more solid than it had been, it still ached. No matter — he had gotten this far. He crossed to his clothes and put them on. They were still slightly damp. His belt was… it was not with his shoes, nor on the table, nor on the hearth. She had taken it, then — which meant he had no knife.

It should not surprise him. After his behavior, how could she possibly feel safe with him armed? He moved back to the couch, picked up Hawke's robe and folded it neatly, thinking. He could do without weapons, though this dagger had been special. Still. Better to leave it behind. But where would he go? He had not thought past _find Hawke, find Anders_, and let them take their revenge. What else could he do? He had lost all his possessions, his friends, his purpose.

He set the folded robe carefully on a chair and sat down, suddenly exhausted. He wasn't sure he could make it out the window, much less away before anyone could notice.

The floorboards just outside the room creaked, and the light of the ward faded away. There was a pause, as though his visitor had to steel herself to greet him, before the door swung slowly open. He couldn't look Hawke in the eye. His gaze hovered somewhere near her waist, though he lifted his chin when she spoke.

"The water is ready for tea, if you'd like to join me in the kitchen."

It was phrased as a request, but he could hardly refuse. He pushed unsteadily to his feet, limping barefoot behind her down a short hallway to the kitchen. She indicated a chair before the worn wooden table; he sat. She turned her back to him and began pulling things out of the cupboard. Now that she wasn't looking, his eyes were drawn upward.

The whole setting was so surreal he could almost tell himself it was a dream. The tiny rustic kitchen with its open hearth was barely large enough for a few cupboards and a small table and chairs. The window was open, and the curtains moved slightly in the breeze, which was full of birdsong and the smell of earth. Hawke looked nothing like her old self. She wore a peasant's dress in a faded yellow that did little for her complexion. Her hair was oddly dark, curling softly past her shoulders, and her feet were bare. As she reached to pull a jar from the shelf, her unbound breasts swayed slightly with her movement. Her motions were smooth and efficient as though this place were completely familiar to her, as though she had lived here always, measuring out tea, pouring water from a heavy cast iron kettle. She could not possibly be the same woman who was a regular in the Viscount's palace in Kirkwall, who owned a mansion in Hightown, who spoke to Templars and Chantry leaders with the calm assurance of an equal.

And yet, that calm was there in her light brown eyes as she brought the cups and teapot to the table and sat down across from him, meeting his gaze. His mouth went dry.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked.

He had no answer, and she did not seem surprised by his silence. After a moment she poured the tea into two mugs and nudged one towards him. He lifted it in both hands, sniffing carefully. Peppermint and elfroot, with something else he could not name. He took a cautious sip, aware that she watched him thoughtfully. The tea was hot, and had a bitter note that the peppermint couldn't disguise. It made the knots in his stomach tighten, and he set down the mug.

When she reached for his hand with both of hers, he did not resist. Nor did he help. She traced over the bruised knuckles with a gentle fingertip before turning his hand over to examine his palm. Turning it back again, she indicated the blood still caked along the side of his thumbnail.

"Is this yours?" she asked.

"I don't know." His voice was rough from disuse. He didn't look up from their joined fingers, clinging to the unreality of the moment, refusing to believe what was happening. Refusing to believe she could be kind, after everything he had done. He could not think. He could only wait.

#

It bothered her, seeing him so unkempt. She could find neither the Chantry brother nor the prince in the unhappy man across from her. He was no longer Sebastian Vael at all, but some weak and weary stranger. His hand hung limp in hers; she set it down gently and pushed away from the table. She left the room and returned a few minutes later, to lay out a handful of items: a pair of small scissors, a scrub brush, and a washing cloth. Crossing to the stove, she poured some water from the kettle into a cracked bowl and brought that back as well. Resuming her seat, she wet a corner of the cloth and reached again for his hand.

Sebastian's brow furrowed.

"Well," she said, wiping at the grime that last night's bath hadn't washed away, "that was _almost_ an expression. I'll call it progress. Have some more tea, it might help."

Slowly, he lifted the mug with his free hand. She went back to work on his thumb. The passage of the rough cloth opened a tear in his cuticle, and it began to bleed afresh. She re-wet the cloth and wiped the blood away.

"Hawke." His voice cracked.

"It's Violet now," she said, setting down the cloth and picking up the scissors. "Hawke died in Kirkwall. At least that's the story Varric tells. Unless he tells the one about how she ran away with Anders to set fire to more Circles."

His hand jerked.

"Careful, I don't want to poke you." She continued to trim his nails, cutting away the broken edges and leaving them very short. "I think he uses that last one to inspire people he thinks might have a shot at tracking Anders down. He's still not quite over how everything turned out."

"Violet." He spoke slowly, as though the word were heavy on his tongue. "What are you doing?"

Violet set down the scissors and reached for the brush, wetting it before briskly rubbing at the grime under the remains of his fingernails.

"I'm doing something about the state of your hands. An archer can't neglect his tools." She smiled to take the sting out of her words. "I'm surprised Fenris didn't tend to them better last night."

Sebastian's shoulders hunched slightly.

"At least you let him wash your hair. Though I suppose I ought to cut it for you while I'm at it."

"Hawke."

"Violet," she corrected.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I already answered that question, I thought," she said, reaching for his other hand and beginning the process all over again. "You're a mess. I never would have expected you to let yourself fall apart like this. Whatever happened to your vanity? You used to be such a peacock."

He frowned and drew a breath, then let it out again in silence.

She raised her eyebrows. "That was almost a deflection — you'll be back to your smooth self again in no time." She did her best to sound as if she believed it. "Now drink your tea."

#

After she finished with Sebastian's hands, she poured him a fresh mug of tea and turned away for a few minutes to tidy up and cut him a slice of bread with a generous smear of butter. When she came back to the table he was slouched in his chair, his eyes half closed.

"Sebastian?" she said gently.

"Hmm?" he replied without moving.

"Hey." She stepped closer, touching his chin lightly with her fingers to encourage him to lift his head. "You all right?"

He blinked a few times before his eyes could focus on her face. He nodded.

"You didn't eat last night did you? Maybe that tea was not the best idea. Okay, we're going to get some food in you. And you're going to stand up and walk around a little."

With a little coaxing, he let her help him up out of the chair. He swayed after he gained his feet — either his knee still bothered him or he was unsteady from the tea, or both. She put an arm around his waist to steady him.

"Fresh air will help. Let's go outside for a bit."

He was so tall — she'd almost forgotten — and his balance was unsettled. He leaned on her more heavily than she anticipated, and for a moment the pair of them wavered. With his arm around her shoulders she felt small, and she wondered how she'd managed to catch him last night and get him down the hall. Then again, he weighed far less than he should have. She could feel every rib through the fabric of his shirt. She wondered what he had gone through and how he had managed to find them. When she paused to work the latch on the back door one handed, he turned and rested his cheek on her hair.

"Stay with me, Seb."

"You smell nice," he said.

"Yes, I washed my hair," she said wryly. "Don't sound so shocked. Come on, let's go."

She made him walk around the perimeter of the garden with her, and some combination of the movement and fresh air seemed to revive him. Then she guided him back onto the porch and parked him against the rail where she liked to enjoy her morning tea, before going back inside to get the bread she'd buttered for him.

She paused on the threshold as she stepped back outside. It was a beautiful morning. The sky was a delicate blue, and there was just enough breeze to make the leaves dance and rustle. The sun shone down on the orchards to their left, making the trees glow a bright fresh green. The trumpet vine that grew on the garden fence was in flower, and occasionally the breeze brought the sweet scent of the blooms across to the porch.

On the other side of the fence, Fenris was had his sword out and was sparring against the empty air. He moved quickly, blade flashing and feet a blur. He'd stripped to his leggings, sweat glistening over his skin.

She blinked when she realized she'd been staring and moved towards Sebastian. He seemed to be watching almost as intently as she had been.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

He looked up, shifting as though embarrassed at having been caught.

"He'll do this for hours when he's upset," she continued, setting the plate along the flat surface of the porch railing between them. "Usually it's something I've done. I'll admit it's a bit nice to have it be someone else's fault for a change."

Sebastian looked down at his hands.

"Hey," she leaned over to try to catch his eye. "It's ok. I was mostly kidding."

Sebastian swallowed.

"I never understood what was between you," he said after a moment. "Fenris would never speak of it."

Vi's smile had a sour edge. "No, I don't imagine he would have." She slid the plate of bread closer to him and gave him a sidelong look. "I might tell you about it if you eat something."

His eyes flicked from Fenris back to Violet, and he picked up the bread, taking a bite and chewing it slowly. His mouth twisted and he shook his head slightly. He swallowed with some difficulty.

"Sorry, I…" He shook his head again, putting down the bread.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" she asked with growing concern.

He blinked as though trying to remember.

"Never mind. I'll get you some soup — that might go down easier. You have to eat _something_."

She came inside and shut the door behind her — for a moment she leaned on it, resting her head back against the wood. This was a disaster. How were they ever going to get him out of here? Maddy was unlikely to keep their secret for long. Vi didn't think she'd give them away maliciously, but she doubted the girl could resist the opportunity to be the bearer of such sensational news — the notorious Hawke, living right under their noses. And Sebastian had found them so easily. The Seekers would know to find her through Fenris just as he had.

"Focus," she whispered, banging her head lightly against the door. One thing at a time. She went to stoke up the fire.

The surface of the soup was just starting to shimmer when she heard the clatter outside. She flung the ladle on the table and rushed to see what had happened. Sebastian was crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the porch steps. Fenris was running toward him; he vaulted the garden fence in an easy leap and they reached him at the same moment.

"He fell on his way down," Fenris said shortly.

Sebastian had rolled over onto his back and had an arm over his face.

"Are you all right?" she asked, crouching next to him.

He began to shake and make strange gasping noises.

"Is he… laughing?" asked Fenris.

Sebastian said something garbled, of which the only words clear enough to understand were "utter cock-up."

"Maybe? Sebastian, what happened?"

But all she got in response was more wheezing laughter.

"What did you give him?" asked Fenris, looking torn between amusement and suspicion.

"Elfroot," she said indignantly. "And valerian. And a bit of marshweed."

"I see," said Fenris.

"In the dose I take for a _headache_," she protested. "I drank it with him, for Andraste's sake!"

"Nonetheless," he said, looking down. He shook his head. "We can't let him lie here. Inside?"

Together they levered him into a mostly upright position. Sebastian hadn't stopped laughing; there were tears running down his face as he let them each get under one arm to half carry him up the steps. By the time they had helped him to a chair in the kitchen, the laughter was giving way to sobs.

Fenris hovered anxiously over his shoulder, shifting his weight. He touched the back of the chair, then his wrist, then shifted his feet again.

"I'll manage it," said Vi. "I'll get some food in him and then… help him get some sleep, if I need to."

Fenris nodded, a little reluctantly. "I should… There are things we need. If we are to go soon."

"There are. If you wouldn't mind going down into town… I can't see how it would hurt, at this point. If you would get him some clothes while you're there?"

"Yes." He went out to retrieve his sword, which he'd dropped in the yard when Sebastian fell. As she ladled soup into a bowl, she heard him moving quietly over her head in the attic. A short time later, the front door opened and closed, and he was gone.

#

Vi turned, soup in hand, and paused. Sebastian's elbows rested on the tabletop, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. She sighed, and put the bowl down on the hearth. It would be a while before he was ready to eat it — she had a feeling he'd been holding everything in for a long while now. She rubbed at her arm uncomfortably, unsure what to do. Leave him be? Try to comfort him? It was hard to know what to say, when she didn't even know what had _happened_. Harder still, when she believed at the core that whatever it was, it was likely his own fault. If he'd stayed, if he'd helped her… maybe they'd all be in Starkhaven now.

In the end, she made a fresh pot of tea — just mint, this time — and sat down at the table next to him. She touched his arm lightly, but when he didn't respond, she wrapped her hands around her cup instead, mulling over what she knew about Starkhaven. How she might have gone about planning a takeover in his place? It seemed likely that he'd rushed in, expecting to be greeted with open arms — the true prince returned home at last, like a fairy tale — and found a rude awakening instead. She couldn't shake the feeling that he might have managed it with their help. Even without armed support from Kirkwall, before they'd split up their group had been a formidable force. Hadn't they stopped the Qunari takeover? And as badly as that final battle had gone, at least they'd put an end to Meredith's madness.

Eventually Sebastian grew calmer. As he rubbed at his face, she gave him a brief squeeze on the shoulder before rising to retrieve the bowl of soup and sliding it in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. I'm— "

"Don't be sorry," she cut in, placing the spoon in his hand. "Eat."

He looked up at her through wet lashes. The redness of his eyes made his irises look more blue than ever. Her stomach tightened in a sudden rush of guilt — she'd been mulling over imaginary strategy while his heart was weeping blood. What kind of monster had she turned into? She'd been so soft-hearted once. She brushed a strand of hair off his forehead and added, "Please."

He shifted the spoon in his hand, looking dubiously at the bowl for a moment before taking a bite.

"Okay?" she asked, once he had swallowed.

He nodded and took another bite.

She waited until he'd eaten most of the bowl before speaking again.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

He looked at the spoon in his hand, rolling it between his fingers.

"No, but you're going to tell me I should." He glanced up at her. "And perhaps you're right. At the very least I owe you some sort of explanation."

"You don't owe me anything… except I would like to know how you found us. How did you know where we were?"

"I didn't," he said. "I was bound for Wycome. I thought… a ship, to Kirkwall. And then I'd try to pick up your trail from there."

"If you'd taken the ferry, you would have passed us right by," she said, shaking her head. "Why didn't you?"

He looked toward the window, jaw tight.

"It seemed too obvious a route. In any case, I was saving what coin I had to get to Kirkwall."

"Why go all the way around by sea? Isn't there a road south across the mountains from there? Even considering the terrain, I would think it might be faster."

"It would, but going over the mountains alone… it's not possible. Even if you could get to the pass, you'd be eaten by beasts or captured by bandits. I would never have made it."

Vi blinked, then her lips curved in a tiny smile. "I thought you didn't care about survival."

"I…" He paused, and for the first time he looked thoughtful. "I guess it never occurred to me to die in that way."

She cocked her head. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I suppose I wanted it to be at the hands of a worthy foe. More of my pride," he said bitterly. "I honestly thought I had none left."

"Maybe it was something else," she suggested. "A part of you, holding out hope."

"Hope of what?"

"I don't know. Redemption, perhaps? Forgiveness?"

Sebastian took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed his knuckles to his eyes.

Violet brushed her fingers against the back of his wrist.

"You've been so kind," he said from behind his hands. "Why aren't you angry with me?"

"I was. I really, really was. Now…" she patted his arm again and then went back to her tea. "I suppose if you want me to stay angry, you'll have to show up in better shape next time."

He snorted, pushing his hands through his hair and glancing over at her. "I'll remember that."

"See that you do," she said.


	4. Chapter 4

Sebastian woke to find himself alone in the front room. The book he had been halfheartedly attempting to read had fallen from his lax fingers to the floor. The light came dimly through the half-drawn curtains and the door was partly closed. The solitude was rather puzzling; he'd rarely been alone in the past week. Violet had put him to work helping in both kitchen and garden; Fenris had read with him in the evenings and had insisted on sharing his attic bedroom, ensuring Sebastian had company even as he slept. At another time in his life he would have found such attention stifling; now it felt oddly comforting.

He picked up the book and set it on the table before climbing to his feet. The faint sound of voices floated down the hallway. He crossed to the door, easing it open gently so it wouldn't squeak. The voices were hushed, but something about them sounded more like argument than conversation. He felt a stirring of curiosity and hesitated only a moment before slipping out into the hall. His sock clad feet made no noise against the worn wooden floorboards.

Violet was speaking; he couldn't see her from where he stood. She must have been somewhere to the left, near the back door. Fenris sat just beyond the doorway, hands on the table in front of him as though he might push up at any moment. He looked up through his hair, then down to the tabletop, fidgeting with the cutlery. He seemed unable to sit still. Sebastian knew he should cough or make some sound to alert them to his presence; instead he moved slowly along the wall, one cautious step at a time.

"—too dangerous," Violet was saying, her voice hushed but tense. "It's by far the best way. We can't travel by sea right now with the Seekers out there looking. I know you're fond of him — I am too. But it's not safe for any of us and its just not going to work."

Fenris looked up when she'd finished. "You're wrong." He leaned forward across the table, reaching out his hands, palms up. "He needs — he isn't like us."

"And that's why you care for him. I know. But we can't… for the Maker's sake, did Kirkwall teach us nothing?" Her footsteps echoed as she paced. "I'm finished picking up strays."

Fenris stood up with a snarl, the need for quiet forgotten. "We are neither of us your pets."

There was a long pause. "I didn't mean it like that," Violet said at last. "You know that's not how I feel. It's just… we don't have time to wait for him to heal. I'm not saying we should just vanish; Mistress Hendry is going to Ansburg soon — I thought we might ask her to look after him. The Ansburg Chantry is large, I'm sure they'd have a place—"

"If he wanted to go back to the Chantry, he would have done so on his own. He does not need strangers, he needs friends." Fenris rested his gauntleted fists on the table top. "He is not the only one. This solitude has not been good for you."

"That's not the point. At all. This trip is going to be hard enough as it is. Someone's going to get hurt."

"Someone is already hurt." His glare was fierce. "If you would go without him, fine. Go without me, also."

"Fenris."

"I am serious."

He looked it. Stepping back, he drew himself up to his full height.

Sebastian felt a surge of grateful affection, which quickly turned sour when it hit him — Violet was planning a journey and did not want him along. He didn't blame her. It was just that she'd spent so much time looking after him and had been so kind that he'd thought… But clearly she was only doing her duty and what she thought was right, as he'd seen her do so many times before. She cared nothing for Sebastian in himself. Why should she? He was lucky she had not thrown him out as soon as he'd arrived.

Violet's pacing finally brought her into view. She paused before the window. The silence stretched out, long and uncomfortable. Fenris shifted his weight. Sebastian thought about retreating, but the room was so silent that a single loose floorboard might give him away. He barely dared to breathe, mortified at the thought that they might turn and find him standing there.

She said something finally, soft and low. Sebastian, half distracted by his predicament, didn't catch it — but Fenris clearly did. The elf shook his hair into his eyes and glanced away. He looked… deflated? Uncomfortable. But no less stubborn.

Violet passed her hands over her face and turned.

"Alright, you win. Catch him up and see what he says. I'll be…" she made a limp gesture with her hands, "trying to come up with a new plan, I guess."

* * *

><p>Fenris avoided Violet's eye as she went out the back door and into the garden. He disliked fighting with her — but lately it happened often. It would be good for both of them to move on. Sebastian had always had a soothing influence; he might be a helpful buffer, though that wasn't why Fenris was determined to let him stay.<p>

He turned towards the hallway to find the man in question standing just outside the door. Sebastian looked embarrassed and apologetic. Clearly he'd overheard.

"How much of that did you get?"

Sebastian moved away from the wall. "Enough. Thank you."

Fenris lifted one shoulder and looked away. "It is nothing."

"It is not nothing. You are kinder to me than I deserve."

"No," said Fenris abruptly. "I am not. Let us…" He gestured down the hall. "I will explain."

Sebastian led the way back to the front room. Fenris crossed to the curtains and opened them to let in more light. Through the window they could clearly see Violet in the garden. They watched for a moment as she paced, twisting her hands together. Abruptly she stopped, tossed her hair back, and knelt down to begin harvesting the herbs at her feet.

Fenris turned away from the window. "It is no longer safe for us to stay here."

"Because of me," said Sebastian.

"No. That is — your arrival made us aware that people… I am rather conspicuous. I fear our neighbors may not be the only ones who have noticed." Fenris moved to the shelf in the far corner and selected a bottle from a small selection on an upper shelf. He reached for a glass and then paused. "Would you like…?"

"Please."

Fenris selected two glasses and brought them and the bottle to the table between the two armchairs at the head of the room.

"I have always chosen not to hide what I am. I will not run from my own skin." He kept his eyes on his work as he peeled the wax seal off the bottle with his fingernails. "However, I had not fully considered what it might mean for Violet. We have moved three times in the last year. It is… difficult for her."

He cracked away the last of the wax and the lyrium brands on his fingers flared briefly as he popped out the cork.

"Years ago she told me she wanted a place to put down roots. For a time, that was Kirkwall. Now, each time we have to start over…"

"She leaves more of herself behind," finished Sebastian.

Fenris nodded. "It will be particularly hard this time. This place… reminds her of Ferelden."

He poured a modest glass of wine for Sebastian and a slightly larger one for himself, taking a sip before settling into his usual chair. Sebastian accepted the glass but remained on his feet.

"But we have no choice. We are planning to go to Kirkwall, at least for a short time." Fenris eyed Sebastian carefully to see how he might react to this news. He seemed startled but not upset. That was good. "According to Varric, the Seekers are indeed in pursuit of Hawke, but as they have recently left Kirkwall, it is our best opportunity to visit. It will be good for Violet to see her friends." He took another sip of wine, and looked up at the ceiling. "She worries that the journey will be difficult for you."

"No doubt," said Sebastian, looking down into his cup. "I am not… what I was."

"You will be," Fenris said firmly.

Sebastian's smile was faint. "It is kind of you to say so. But I wonder if she may not be right. I would not like to be a burden, or a risk to either of your safety."

"If there is risk, we will manage it," Fenris said, scowling. It pained him to see his friend this way. None of the serene calm of Brother Sebastian of the Chantry remained. He remembered watching him during the Chant, or interacting with Hawke's other companions — how warm his smile had been, how open and accepting his gaze. Nothing had ever disturbed or confused that calm. It had been a comfort; now it was gone. Sebastian was hurt and wary. Fenris wanted to say or do something to help, but he was at a loss.

"Would you care to sit?" he asked.

"I am making you uncomfortable. Forgive me," said Sebastian, moving toward Violet's usual chair. He lowered himself down stiffly.

"It's not that. You… are tense."

Sebastian gave him a rueful half smile and took a sip of his wine.

"Do you wish to speak of it?" The words came out faster than Fenris meant them to.

"You do have a right to know," said Sebastian slowly.

"It may be needful, before we travel. But I meant…" Fenris looked down at his hands, "that it might help you. I have not forgotten how it helped me, to speak with you. It would not leave this room unless you wish it."

"There's no need to keep it secret." Sebastian frowned into his cup. "I nearly didn't make it out of Kirkwall at all. When I left you, the city was in a panic. I was halfway to the gates when I came back to myself and knew I should turn back. Then I found the Comtesse de Launcet — she and a party of friends were holding what valuables they could carry, trying to make it to her husband's ship. The crowd was already growing wild; I escorted them to the docks. When we arrived, the Comte insisted that I join them." He spread his hands. "It was weak of me to agree. But I believed there was nothing to stay for. We went to Ostwick — the de Launcet family has holdings there — and I stayed with them for six months while I tried to contact everyone who had said they might have an interest in helping me retake Starkhaven."

He drank off the rest of his wine, and set the cup down with a thunk. "Very few of them troubled to write back. Of those, hardly any felt they could still offer support. But there was no going back; what was left to return to? The Comte lent me money for travel, and I left. I don't see how I'll ever be able to repay him."

Fenris shifted. "I imagine Hawke can find a way."

Sebastian's smile was pained. "No doubt. There is little Hawke cannot accomplish when she puts her mind to it."

Fenris frowned; he'd meant it to be comforting.

"And then what did you do?" he asked.

"One of the few who did reply was an old friend; she offered to let me stay at her father's estate outside Starkhaven. It's little short of a miracle she would even speak to me, after how I behaved the year before I left. Loralie said the idea was pure folly, but she helped me nonetheless. Would that I had listened to her!" His lips twisted in disgust. "But of course I did not. I began to approach the noble houses one by one. They all gave me some sort of welcome. I never discovered which were lying. Perhaps all of them. I was traveling to see Lord Gregory when I was ambushed. They held me somewhere outside the city. I was there for some weeks — I don't know exactly how long. It seems my execution was scheduled, and Loralie —"

Suddenly he stood. "I'm sorry — I cannot… Excuse me." He fled the room. Fenris heard the front door open and shut. He rubbed the crease between his brows and poured himself another glass of wine.

* * *

><p>They would be the death of him, Fenris thought as he strode purposefully through the orchard an hour later. So very stubborn. Sebastian holding on to his guilt and Violet holding on to her anger — neither of them willing to accept that things were what they were and there was no sense wasting time on their <em>feelings<em> about it. Violet would come through eventually — she always did what was needful — but he was not sure about Sebastian. There was only one course of action Fenris could think of, and he was taking it. Once it was done they'd have no choice but to follow.

He moved with purpose, and it didn't take long before he reached the end of the orchard, where trees gave way to a field. The field ended in a hedge that enclosed the farmhouse of their landlord. More importantly at this moment, it was the home of his daughter.

Across the lane from the farmhouse lay the barn, the best place to begin his search. Their landlord was well-off by local standards; he owned no horses, but had a large bull which brought a moderate income in stud fees. In addition he had two cows and an assortment of goats and chickens. Judging by the angle of the sun, it should be getting close to milking time.

There she was, as he had hoped, scooping grain into a bucket.

"Madeline," he said, giving her a slight bow.

"Serrah Fenris!" She almost dropped the scoop in her surprise, and gave him an awkward curtsey. "Is everything alright?"

"I've come to you because Hawke needs your help."

Her eyes grew wide when he offered to carry the bucket for her.

It was nearly sunset before he made it back to the cottage. He hoped Sebastian and the Maker would forgive him for the lies he had told the girl. It had been necessary.

The kitchen window was open; he could hear voices as he approached the back steps.

"I'll handle the marshweed. If you're sensitive to it, you're probably better off not touching it."

"That's — it's very kind of you, my lady. What would you have me do instead?"

"There's no need to be so formal. I'm not a lady here. Perhaps you would tie the thyme together, in bundles about this big?"

"As you wish, my — Hawke. Violet."

"Thank you."

Their words were measured, polite. It might have fooled someone who did not know them, but not Fenris. Sebastian almost never stumbled over his words, and Violet's voice was pitched a shade too high. If he had to guess, Sebastian had confessed to having overheard this afternoon. Violet would be embarassed, but pretending not to be. They must have had an awkward evening.

Fenris pulled back his shoulders and opened the door.

They both looked up sharply at the sound. Sebastian was tying fresh herbs from the garden into easily transportable bundles; Violet had pulled the bunches of herbs that had been drying in the hallway and was crumbling the leaves into canvas pouches.

"There you are," she said crisply. She was still angry — or possibly just angry again. "We were starting to worry."

The table was covered with their handiwork, so Fenris eased the bundle he'd been carrying onto a chair and opened it up. He pulled out a short bow and handed it to Sebastian.

"It's the best I could manage on short notice," he said.

"Where did you find it?" Sebastian asked, running his fingers along the scratched wood. The weapon had certainly seen better days.

"From our neighbors." He turned to Violet. "I told Madeline that we are leaving."

Violet looked at him as though he'd taken leave of his senses. "That was a terrible idea."

"I told her if anyone asked, to say we'd gone to Starkhaven. And that if it looked like they didn't believe her, not to be a hero and to tell them we went to Ansburg."

"But we're not going to Ansburg."

He gave her a grim smile. She sighed and nodded. Good — she saw the necessity.

"Is the young lady in danger?" asked Sebastian.

"She figured out who we are. Everyone who knows us is in danger," said Violet. "Our very existence is supposedly a terrible threat. Templars, Seekers — there are lots of people are looking for us. That's why we can't stay still."

Rather than meet Sebastian's eyes, Fenris reached back into the bag he'd been carrying to pull out a pair of worn boots.

"They aren't very attractive but I believe they'll fit better than what you have," he said, handing them over.

"Thank you but… what is happening?"

"Fenris has spilled the beans," said Violet, "which means we have to leave immediately, before word gets out. We can wait for first light, but not much more than that."

"If you want to try the bow, it would be best to do it now, before dark," Fenris added.

Sebastian looked between them, and down at the bow in his hands.

"I don't even know if I'm coming with you." He turned to Violet. "I hate to add to your risk, and I don't wish to impose."

"Do you _want_ to come?" she asked.

He looked from one of them to the other.

Fenris wouldn't ask, but he hoped. Sebastian studied his face carefully before answering.

"I believe I would prefer to join you." He turned to Violet. "I hate to be a burden, but I am not certain where else I can go."

"Then it's settled," she said. "Try the bow. We'll be leaving in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

Sebastian woke when Fenris shook his arm. It was still dark out. Silently, they slid into their clothes and made their way downstairs. The teapot sat in the middle of the table, next to empty cups and the last of yesterday's bread. Violet was nowhere to be seen, but Fenris did not seem concerned, so Sebastian simply gulped his tea and ate the dry, crumbling bread. He stacked the empty cups on the counter while Fenris emptied the dregs of tea out in the garden, and then they picked up their packs from the hallway and left through the front door.

Violet was leaning against the gate, pack at her feet and a plain wooden staff in her hand. Sebastian was surprised to see that she wore canvas trousers and a man's shirt, and had tied her hair tightly back. In all the years they had traveled together, he had never seen her in pants. In Kirkwall, she'd worn robes — even under the very eyes of the Templars — and here at the cottage she'd worn simple dresses like every other local farmer's wife or daughter. This outfit suited her, though she somehow looked smaller with her figure so clearly outlined.

"Ready?" she asked as they approached. Fenris nodded, and she turned to pick up her pack. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and they were on their way.

They traveled silently, by common consent, walking single file along the road and through the quiet streets of town. Sebastian had expected them to cross the river at the first opportunity, but Violet led the way past the dock without a single look. Once he thought about it, it made sense — if they were trying to mask what direction they had gone, crossing the river in the obvious place was hardly wise. Some of the townsfolk were already stirring; he saw smoke coming from chimneys. It was better to move along quickly if they did not wish to be seen.

The sun rose behind them as they walked along the river road towards Starkhaven. He felt strange and hollow, walking back toward his long ago home, where he had been so recently imprisoned. He was not afraid — he was with Hawke and Fenris. And it wasn't as though he was exactly retracing his steps. One near miss shortly after his escape had been enough to make him stay away from the main thoroughfare; instead he had taken a long and winding route through smaller lanes and across fields. But in the direction they walked, he was a wanted man, even more so than the infamous Hawke.

He was still preoccupied with these thoughts an hour later, so much so that he almost walked into Fenris before realizing he'd stopped.

"Trouble," Violet said quietly.

Half a dozen armed men were sauntering down the road towards them, pointing and laughing.

"I'm sorry, you were right. I never should have come," he began.

"I don't think it's you they recognize," said Fenris.

"Well, well," said the man in front, when they were within hailing distance. "A young lady with a staff and a tattooed elf. Just what we were looking for. Only we heard they lived up in Milton Hill."

"Can I help you?" Violet asked mildly.

"Maybe you can. Of course, your hair isn't quite the color I was expecting. But I suppose you could dye that, couldn't you?"

"With magic!" called someone from the back of the group.

"Maybe with magic," the man said, as though that were a new and striking idea. "I wonder what the Reverend Mother would say about that? Mages belong in Circles, not walking down the road."

Sebastian had once seen Violet talk down a mob by pretending to be young and frightened, a simple farm girl. Convinced that the quavering child in front of them couldn't be the mighty Hawke, they'd let her go. Fenris had been injured that day, he remembered. But the elf was healthy now, and Violet didn't seem in the mood for playacting. Slowly, Sebastian's fingers moved toward the tie that was holding his bow to his pack, preparing to pull the knot free.

"Speaking of roads, this one is plenty wide," said Violet. "Why don't you gentlemen just keep on walking?"

"We could do that," said the man. "But the idea makes me uneasy in my conscience. See, I think you're the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Champion is a wanted woman with a price on her head."

"I don't suppose I can change your mind, gentlemen?" she said, with the faintest of smiles. If Sebastian didn't know better, he would say she was enjoying this.

"Grab her!" was the response. 

He saw Fenris pull free his broadsword and swing it in a circle before settling into a ready stance. A few of the men scuttled back slightly, and began edging to the side. The leader leapt towards Violet, and others followed. Fenris pushed into them, sword flashing, as Violet readied her staff. The air pulsed with lightning.

An arrow whistled by to his left; Sebastian turned and found the archer, who had stepped off the road, half behind a tree. He drew the bow Fenris had given him. His wrist throbbed, and the unfamiliar wood felt stiff and brittle beneath his fingers. He missed his mark; the shot was late and a bit high. Still, he managed to land a glancing blow to the man's scalp, which was enough to startle him. Sebastian's second shot — corrected for this awkward bow — caught him in the throat before he could recover. Sebastian turned back towards the fight; two men had engaged Fenris, but the rest were circling around Violet, trying to flank her. She'd knocked some of them to the ground with force magic, but they were already climbing to their feet. She was on the defensive now, and they had nearly succeeded in surrounding her.

Discarding the shoddy bow, Sebastian drew his dagger and sprang forward. He caught the nearest fellow in the lower back before he could touch Violet, tearing at his entrails before hauling him aside, the momentum carrying the man down to the ground. He turned back to find one of the others coming for him, armed with a mace and a hefty swing. Sebastian dropped under the man's arm, missing the blow, but the movement strained his weak knee and he staggered before regaining his feet. It felt as though he may have re-pulled a muscle — he couldn't move fast enough to completely avoid the second blow. It glanced off his shoulder, pushing him back and sending a rush of pain and adrenaline through him. The arm was of little use to him now — he switched hands with the knife and risked a look back to ensure he didn't trip over the fallen man behind him as he moved.

"Fenris!" Violet's voice was filled with fear.

Sebastian whipped his head around just in time to dodge another blow from the man with the mace. Looking past it, he saw Violet gesture towards them with her staff. A fierce gust of wind pushed both Sebastian and his opponent to the ground. The fall did nothing good for either of Sebastian's injuries and knocked the wind out of him. For a moment, it was all he could do to breathe — then suddenly he was splattered with a hot wash of blood. Not his own, he thought, and opened his eyes to see Fenris stooping over him, looking quickly at the extent of his injuries before touching him lightly on the cheek. His hands were sticky and reeked of blood. Without a word, he offered a hand and hauled Sebastian to his feet by his good arm, holding just long enough to ensure he was stable before turning back to the fight.

Sebastian looked for his former opponent. The body lay on the ground where it had fallen, the throat torn out. The brutality of it made his stomach clench — he turned his eyes away and searched the grass for his dagger. Finally he spotted it, but found picking it up while keeping his footing was tricky. He realized with a sinking heart that he was unlikely to be much help to anyone with only one working arm and leg. Turning back, he could see that Fenris had pulled more of the men away from Violet. She'd cast some sort of gravity spell on the rest to hold them, and was picking them off with lightning one at a time. Between them they had the situation well in hand; he was not needed after all. He sheathed his dagger and hobbled over towards where he'd left the bow. By the time he'd retrieved and un-strung it, there was only one man left. Fenris was standing behind him, sword to his throat, and Violet was speaking. Sebastian limped closer to hear what they said.

"Are you sure? You did say you were looking for me. I have a funny feeling I'd remember if we'd met before."

"I'm not afraid to die," he man said stiffly. "Kill me and be done with it."

"I'm afraid it's not going to be that easy. You're better off telling me what I want to know," she warned, lowering her staff to point dead at the center of his chest.

"Allow me," said Fenris.

"No need," she said, jerking her chin to indicate he should step back. As soon as Fenris was out of the way, a pulse of force magic slammed the man to the ground. She dropped down after him, one hand on his throat and her knee on his stomach to keep him down.

"Who sent you?" she snapped.

The man coughed. "No one."

Violet's fingers twitched. A curl of green passed from her hand, and formed a cloud around the man's face. He cried out, and she tightened her fist, canceling the spell.

"Let's try that again. Why are you here?"

"We heard a rumor… the Champion," he gasped. "There's a big price on your head."

Her fingers twitched again, and he cried out.

"No! Please. It's the Maker's truth, I swear. All we heard was that the Champion and the elf might be in the area. We didn't know which way you'd be going, or that you'd have company."

"Who started this rumor? Where did you hear it?"

"Stranger in a tavern — please don't!"

Again the green swirled and engulfed him. He tried to cover his face, whimpering. She let him writhe for some time before releasing him. Sebastian shifted. Hawke's use of the fear spell had always made him uncomfortable. It seemed she was more liberal with it than she used to be.

"Where did this rumor come from?" she asked again.

"My cousin… used to live in Kirkwall," gasped the man.

"And?"

"He heard you might be out here and… he said he'd recognize you."

"But he wasn't with you today?"

"He's a coward," he coughed.

"Perhaps he was smart," suggested Fenris, his arms folded. The man only groaned in reply.

"Where did he go?" asked Violet.

"Home to Starkhaven. Left this morning."

Violet glanced over her shoulder towards Sebastian. The light was behind her, and he couldn't quite see her expression. He didn't need to.

"Are you sure?" she asked the man.

"He's not ruddy well here." Violet lifted her hand once again, green smoke swirling, and the man cringed.

Sebastian cleared his throat. This was going too far. Surely the man was telling the truth — under the effects of Hawke's spell, he was clearly terrified.

Violet gave no indication that she'd heard, but she studied the man for a while and nodded. She stood. Before the man could react, Fenris plunged his sword through his neck. Violet didn't quite step back in time to miss the spray of blood. Wiping the side of her face with her hand, she turned to Sebastian.

"Your job is to cover us and watch our backs. It is not to run into the middle of everything and get in the way. I don't care if you have a death wish," she said, her voice fierce. "You'll pursue it on your own time, and not put the rest of us in danger. Do you understand?"

Her eyes were tawny with anger. He'd seen her temper plenty of times, but there was something sharper about it than he'd remembered. Maybe it was only that it had so seldom been turned in his direction.

"Yes, my lady," he said faintly.

"Good," she said. "Now let's move these bodies."

Fenris looked Sebastian over, as though making certain he was all right. He moved quickly to his pack, fished out a paper packet, and pulled out a piece of dried elfroot. He handed it wordlessly to Sebastian before grabbing the slain man's arms and helping Violet carry him into the bushes beyond the side of the road. Sebastian put the root in his mouth to chew. He was in no shape to move anything, but he could at least search the remaining bodies for information and valuables. And he might as well take a look at that other archer's bow — it looked to be in better shape than the one he carried. 

They were mostly silent as they cleaned up the mess of the fight — piling the bodies well back from the road before sliding down the muddy slope towards the river to wash. Only when that was done did Violet's attention return to Sebastian.

"Let me take a look at that shoulder," she said.

He sat on a damp mossy rock while she knelt on the ground beside him. After her earlier anger, her hands were surprisingly gentle. She probed cautiously with her fingers before laying one hand to each side of his shoulder, infusing it with magic.

"Nothing broken," she said. "You're lucky. Maces are nasty."

Once she was satisfied, she turned to his knee. The glow of magic lasted only for a moment. "I don't have much energy left, and we have to keep moving. This is the best I can do for now. I wish we had time for you to rest this so it wouldn't get re-injured so readily, but it can't be helped. Be gentle with it if you can. Staying out of hand-to-hand combat would help." She pressed her lips together and looked up. "What happened? Is something wrong with the bow? Or was it your wrist?"

Embarrassed, he flushed and looked away. "A bit of both. The bow is brittle and liable to crack. I've liberated a new one from our friends here. It's still not what I'm used to but I can make it work."

Her lips thinned. "We'll find you a better one when we can."

"It's fine. I just didn't trust it, or myself, shooting close to you. It seemed safer to set it aside."

"Well, I don't need another bodyguard," she said frankly. "Your eyes are more useful to me than your blade. If there's no shot you can take — wait and watch. You'll see it when the time comes."

Pent up pride burned red-hot in his stomach. "I don't need you to tell me the business of archery."

"Pardon me," she said coolly, rising to her feet, "but it looks like you do. It wasn't only yourself you put in danger. I need you to be more strategic. You were never meant to be a foot soldier."

"I can't." He was surprised at how his voice echoed back from the water, and struggled to lower it. "Obviously if I were any good at strategy I wouldn't be here now."

"But you could be," she said. The slanting morning light caught a streak of blood in her hair and her eyes blazed. Blasphemous it might be, but there was something almost holy about Violet when her eyes burned with passion. Something about her would shift, and suddenly she was no longer a bland, quiet girl — she was a force to be reckoned with. It had struck him the first time they'd met. It was that as much as her help avenging his family that had made him follow her — even after he'd realized she was a mage. He didn't think he was the only one, either. Hawke raised powerful emotions in people, for good or ill.

"You have the eye and you have the brain. You need to _use_ them." Her voice thrummed low in his ears. "Harness them together and keep your emotions out of the way. I understand you find it difficult, but you have the ability."

He wanted to, in that moment. He wanted to live up to the potential she saw in him. But the feeling subsided with her next words.

"Take a deep breath, count to ten, do what you have to; but I'll thank you not to put Fenris into unnecessary danger again. He can't shield both of us, as much as he's willing to try. If he spreads himself too thin, he'll be the one that suffers. You're more valuable and can do more damage from a distance."

Suddenly he was nine years old again, getting dressed down by his father. It was all the worse because he knew he deserved it. She hadn't wanted to bring him on this trip at all and the very first thing he'd done had been to justify her reservations.

"I'm happy to have you along if we can work as a team. If we can't, you'll have to go. There's too much at stake." She offered a hand to help him up. "I hope you'll decide to stay."

He eyed her hand for a moment before accepting it.

* * *

><p>Once the road looked as close to undisturbed as they could make it, Fenris led the way westward. After a few minutes, Violet spoke softly in his ear.<p>

"Maybe we do need to go to Starkhaven," she said. "This isn't the sort of loose end— "

"No," he snapped, before she could finish her thought. He looked back over his shoulder. Sebastian was trailing several feet behind them and didn't look as though he'd heard. He kept his own voice low. "Sebastian can't go to Starkhaven."

"Obviously not. But we could stash him somewhere, leave him some supplies… if we could trust him to stay put, it could work."

"No," he said again. He shoved his hair out of his eyes, searching for an argument she would accept. "It is possible," he said after a moment, "that this will help our false trail. The girl Madeline will point people this way. The bodies will be found, right on the road to Starkhaven. It makes sense that we would pursue their informant. Instead of doing so, we should turn off now. Those fools have done us a favor."

Violet grunted, but he saw she was considering what he'd said.

"After dark, we can find a way to get across the river," he added.

"Like we'd planned, only sooner," she said. "I admit that's tempting. Let's see what we find tonight."


	6. Chapter 6

_Hi guys! I'm not dead, I swear. Between Dragon Age Inquisition, the holidays, and various other Big Life Things my progress has been glacial on this story... but I haven't abandoned it! I have a LOT more drafted already. I'm debating how much revising to do based on the changing canon from DA:I - and of course, I won't really know how extensive those revisions might need to be until I've finished the game (which due to the aforementioned holidays and life events, I haven't yet been able to do). In the meantime, thanks for hanging in there! _

* * *

><p>They reached the next village shortly before sunset. It was much smaller than Milton Hill, only a handful of buildings, and it lacked any official river crossing. But there was a tiny tavern that catered to river traffic, where they got a hot meal — perhaps their last for a while. Once Violet felt they'd been seen by enough people to be remembered, they walked on past the buildings and pushed their way through a broken-down hedge. They settled to wait for dark on the lumpy dried earth of a harvested field.<p>

They'd partly unrolled the canvas sheeting they'd brought for a tent, and laid it out on the ground. Sebastian sank down in the corner farthest from Violet, his knees tucked up and his chin resting on them, eyes on the ground. He wasn't ready for this, she thought, leaning back against her pack. He might never be. Vi wasn't sure _she_ was ready to go back to Kirkwall, and she had friends she would be glad to see. What did Sebastian have?

He hadn't said two words since the morning, and she suspected that was largely her fault. He'd been stupid, but she hadn't needed to be quite so openly angry about it. It had only been days since he'd appeared on their doorstep, half-starved and desperate; he deserved some gentleness. She wished they'd been able to let him have more time to recover.

A glance at Fenris showed that he shared her concern. Frowning, he had knelt down and was digging through his pack. After a moment, he pulled out a wrapped bundle, which turned out to contain a tall glass bottle. He moved on his knees without ruffling the canvas — she felt guilty for noticing how graceful he was when she remembered the training he must have had to achieve it — and presented the bottle to Sebastian.

"I bought it for you," said Fenris. "Months ago, before we knew where you were. Just in case."

Sebastian lifted his head to look. "Where did you find it? Glen Innes is hard to come by." He took the bottle from Fenris' hand, inspecting it almost reverantly in the fading light.

"A tiny bottle shop in Ansburg. It was on the top shelf, but I recognized the label."

"What is it?" asked Vi. She remembered the visit to the shop, but Fenris had lingered so long over the various vintages that she'd eventually stopped paying attention.

"I once brought a bottle to Fenris, on my birthday," said Sebastian. "It was far too decadent a thing for a Brother to own," he added, a brief shadow crossing his face, "but I knew Fenris would appreciate it."

"We drank it together," said Fenris with a smile.

"Over the course of many nights. I can't believe you've carried it all this time." Sebastian handed the bottle back. Fenris began picking at the seal with the tips of his gauntlets.

"Is opening it now really a good idea?" Vi asked.

"Glen Innes isn't whiskey you'd find at the Hanged Man," said Sebastian. "It's meant to be sipped slowly."

"Just a taste," agreed Fenris, popping out the cork. He lifted the bottle towards Sebastian. "_Amicos inveniri_."

Sebastian's smile was wistful as Fenris took a sip and handed him the bottle. "To friends found," he echoed. He took his own sip, his eyes closed to savor the whiskey. "It is as good as I remember," he said.

"It is," Fenris agreed.

Sebastian offered the bottle to Vi. She almost refused but thought the better of it, taking the heavy bottle and lifting it in a toast towards the pair of them before taking a very small sip. Behind the burn there was a hint of smoke and sweetness. Mostly though, it burned. She struggled not to make a face as she handed the bottle back to Fenris. They passed it between them again. She waved off the second round, lying back instead to watch the stars come out.

After a few more sips, Sebastian reached for the cork and re-sealed the bottle. He asked Fenris about the shop where he'd found the whiskey, then generally about Ansburg. Listening to their amicable small talk, Vi had a sudden pang of longing for happier times that was almost physical.

She had been a regular visitor to Aveline's office in the evenings, when the Guard Captain had been ostensibly doing paperwork. Sometimes she'd bring some cheese, or a basket of pastries from Orana, and they would sit and talk. About the day, the city, family, Ferelden, anything. Aveline was a good listener, but she wouldn't hesitate to call you out when she thought you needed it. Vi missed those evenings more than she'd expected. She hadn't had a word from Aveline, other than the oblique news from Varric's letters. She knew why; it was better for everyone that communication was limited. But without her makeshift family, she sometimes felt as though she were drifting. Fenris let her know his opinions, of course, but she didn't really trust his moral compass any more than she did her own. And Sebastian's comment had brought back the ghost of evenings at the Hanged Man — the cards, the teasing, the ridiculous stories. Isabela she'd seen — was it only a few months ago? But for the others it had been almost a year. What had happened to Merrill? Was Varric writing anything other than his horrible letters? How did Aveline really feel about being appointed Viscount, and were the local nobles content to have an Orlesian-via-Ferelden former Guard Captain as head of the city?

Lost in her thoughts, Violet didn't notice when her companions fell silent. In fact, she'd nearly fallen asleep when Fenris cleared his throat. She propped herself up on one elbow, straining to see him in the dark.

"I am going to look around. To see if it's safe for us to go," said Fenris.

She nodded, and he rose without a sound, disappearing through a gap in the hedge. She sat up. Across the canvas sheet, Sebastian was asleep. He was curled nearly into a ball, hair over his face. She really needed to do something about that hair. She wondered idly if he could get the front into a tail like the one Anders used to wear, then winced. She tried not to think about Anders more than she could help. She'd refused to kill him, but she had also refused his help against the Templars, telling him in no uncertain terms that their friendship was over. Change had to come, she believed that — but not by blowing up the innocent. Not by duping your friends into helping with lies, because you knew they'd never agree to your plans. But to be honest, she wasn't sure how much of Anders had been left by the end. He'd grown distant and cool, only turning on his old charm when he wanted her help. And she would never believe it had been a healer's idea to kill so many people. She twisted her fingers together so hard it hurt, then got to her feet and checked her pack, just for something to do.

Fenris returned a short while later, stooping to wake Sebastian before telling them that he'd found what they needed.

* * *

><p>The boat Fenris had found outside an empty barn was small enough that they easily carried it into the water. Fitting all three of them and their baggage inside while still having room enough to row was a different matter, but by re-arranging and sitting on their packs, they managed.<p>

The little boat rode dangerously low in the water, but the crossing was otherwise uneventful. There was some disagreement when they reached the other side. Fenris was in favor of letting the boat drift away to save time, while Sebastian and Vi preferred to return it. Sebastian's motives were kind — the boat belonged to someone, after all. Violet was more concerned with leaving no evidence of their crossing. In the end, she stripped down to her underclothes and rowed the boat back across alone. Returning it to where they'd found it by herself in near silence was harder than she'd anticipated, but before very long, she had secured it safely and was wading out into the river. She was a strong swimmer, even in water this cold. But instead of fighting the current, she let it carry her some ways away from her companions to avoid splashing too loudly as she worked against it. Noise carried over water, and it wouldn't do to be discovered now.

It was a cold, dark walk back upstream to meet her companions, but it wasn't until she'd almost made it back that she remembered her dream from the week before — Bethany, dripping wet. _We're all making our way back to you._

She was shivering violently by the time she reached them. Sebastian, mistaking the cause as cold, wrapped her quickly in his cloak before digging out her dry clothes. Both men turned their backs while she dressed as quickly as her trembling fingers allowed.

"Let's walk on for a bit before we stop for the night," she said between chattering teeth, tying her wet clothes to the back of her pack to drip dry. Sebastian took back the damp cloak and handed her her own dry one. Fenris, who had the best night vision, led the way along the faint track that ran beside the river bed.

When they'd gone far enough to be completely out of sight of the village, he pointed out a relatively sheltered area under some trees where they could grab a few hours' sleep. They didn't bother with the tent — just spread the canvas out on the ground, rolled out their blankets, and lay down.

Sebastian was asleep within minutes. But Vi found that her brain wouldn't slow down enough for sleep. The memory of her dream made her anxious in a way that made no sense. Reuniting with her friends was a good thing. Yet from the mouth of a demon, somehow it sounded more like a threat. She shifted in her blankets, trying to extract maximum warmth from the wool blanket that covered her. Maybe going to Kirkwall was a mistake?

"You should rest," Fenris said quietly. She lifted her head and saw that he was sitting cross-legged on top of his blanket, his eyes out on the river.

"Shouldn't you?" she asked, sitting up.

"I am used to going without. I will watch, and wake you before dawn. Tomorrow we should reach the road that goes up into the mountains. You'll want your… _energy_ at full power."

He had a point. She'd need to look at Sebastian's knee and shoulder again before they set out, and they had a long day ahead.

"Yeah. 'Night, then. Thanks Fenris."

He didn't reply. She burrowed back down under her blanket, and concentrated on matching the soft, slow sound of Sebastian's breath with her own until she fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Fenris woke them early, as promised. It took only a few minutes to re-fold the canvas, pack their blankets, and snatch a quick bite.

"Before we get going, let me take a look at that knee," said Vi.

Sebastian looked up through his hair from where he sat on his pack eating a piece of cheese. He said nothing, but moved his leg so she could access it more easily. She knelt down beside him, running her fingers gently over the joint. It was still swollen and warm to the touch even through his trousers. She rested her hands on each side, took a deep breath, and sent her magic in, seeking and repairing the damage lingering from yesterday's fight. When she finished, she looked up to find him watching her with a troubled expression.

She grimaced. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

His eyes flicked away from her face. "Everything you said was fair."

"Maybe, but the way I said it wasn't. I was worked up, from the fight and everything else."

"You weren't the only one."

"I know. That's why I wanted to apologize. How's your shoulder?"

He rolled it experimentally. "Bruised but otherwise fine."

"I'd like to check, if you don't mind." She reached towards him. He stiffened, but permitted her to lay her hand along the front of his shoulder and feel the area with magic.

"It seems okay. Not swollen; there's probably not much I can do. We've got some elfroot you can chew if you want."

"I'll be fine, thank you."

He was so distant and polite. She pressed her lips together to supress a frown. "Okay." She slid her hand down to squeeze the unbruised part of his arm. "Let me know if that changes."

"Here," said Fenris abruptly, appearing from somewhere behind her to thrust a canvas envelope of elfroot towards Sebastian. "You'll know when you need it."

Sebastian took the packet and tucked it into a pouch hanging from his belt. 

After putting on their packs, they walked along the river bank. The morning sun was warm on their backs. Vi disliked how visible they were walking along the water's edge, but the alternative was pushing their way through the underbrush, and that would slow them down as well as exposing them to ticks and rodents and Maker knew what else. So they continued along the sloping bank of the Minanter, picking around the weeds and muddy patches in silence until they reached the outskirts of a small cluster of farms in the late morning. They left the water to skirt around the edges of the fields until they reached a large streambed which ran down to join the river below. This late in the year, there were several feet of dry bank to either side of the water.

"We should follow it uphill," said Fenris, "and meet the road to the pass on the other side."

They walked in silence, picking their way over the rocky bank with some difficulty. Violet considered pulling off her shoes and wading straight up the middle — the cool water would feel nice on her feet — but with the pace Fenris had set, she had visions of slipping on the wet stone and cracking her head on the rocks. Instead she moved up toward the brush at the side of the stream bed, where the ground was a bit more even. After an hour or so, they came to a rocky slope over stones slick with moss where the water tumbled down a short fall. Scrambling to the top, they found Fenris was correct. A wooden bridge sat above the rise, wide enough to allow a cart to cross, and the road continued from there up the hill. Violet suggested a brief rest before moving on.

They each found a rock to sit on and munched jerky and cheese beside the quiet music of the waterfall. Violet was looking back down the hill, wondering how far they'd come — what she wouldn't give for a proper to-scale map instead of the simple sketch they'd made — when Fenris spoke.

"Are you well?"

She looked around, but he wasn't talking to her.

"Well enough," Sebastian replied. "Though I admit the rest is welcome. How do you know so much about the route?"

"I've been this way before." The corner of Fenris' mouth curled up slightly.

"On your way to Kirkwall?"

He nodded. "The more commonly used road is through Wildervale, to the west."

"That's the way I've travelled in the past," agreed Sebastian.

"It was too populated when I first came south," said Fenris. "And there were reasons I did not want to travel through Cumberland. But I heard of this pass farther east and managed to avoid the hunters long enough to get here. It's a rougher trip and gets cut off by snow in winter, but that should not trouble us."

Vi reached over to smack him on the arm. He glared at her.

"You deserve it," she said. "Never say things like that. Now we're doomed to bad weather."

Fenris cast a skeptical eye up at the sky, which was blue and clear as far as they could see.

"Just wait," she insisted. "It will come back to haunt us eventually."

Fenris scowled at her, though she knew he was at least as much amused at her superstition as actually annoyed. His expression softened when he noticed Sebastian smiling at their byplay. He dropped the scowl in favor of rolling his eyes.

"Let's refill the water jars and keep going," he said.

* * *

><p>Fenris had been right, Vi realized as she finally reached the top of the rise. The road hadn't been as steep as she feared, but it had been unrelenting, leading straight up the hillside, with hardly any turns or switchbacks. All her energy, magical or no, had been needed to keep up with his pace. She was out of breath, and glad for an excuse to stop and rest.<p>

Turning to look back the way they had come, she saw Sebastian laboring to finish the climb, his steps slow and slightly uneven. Her lips pursed for a moment before she shook her head and loped back down the slope toward him.

"Hang on a minute," she said. "There's something I can do for you."

He froze as she unslung her staff and pointed it square at his chest.

"Rejuvenation spell. Nothing to worry about," she assured him, shaping the rune in her mind. There was a flare of yellow light, and he relaxed visibly as the magic took hold.

"It's handy, but not something I use often." She closed her eyes, and shaped the rune again, casting it on herself. A cooling tingle spread from her chest outward to her limbs, and a faint taste almost like peppermint touched the back of her tongue. Energy surged through her — she felt ready to run up the hill, bouncing at every step like a mountain goat.

"Maker, that helps," she breathed.

When she opened her eyes, Sebastian was looking at her curiously. She wondered what her expression had been when the spell hit, and whether it had been as blissful as his.

"It does," he agreed, a trace of awe in his voice.

"Just stand still for a bit, and let it settle in. The first wave can make you over confident." She smiled and he smiled back. "I'm sorry it didn't occur to me to do this earlier."

"I can appreciate it all the more for having been tired," he said. "Have you done Fenris as well?"

She shook her head. "I didn't even ask. Fenris won't permit 'extraneous magic'. You've seen how he has to be half dead to allow as much as a healing spell." She heaved a theatrical sigh. "So stubborn. His lyrium brands do give him a stamina boost, though." She turned and looked up the hill. Realizing he was alone, the elf had stopped, settling on top of a rock to wait for them. It was probably cooler there, where a small waterfall was so close to the road that spray clouded the air. The path would soon be parting company with the stream, which continued through a narrow gorge, while the road turned to meander up the side of the hill.

Vi cocked her head at Sebastian and he nodded. They started back up towards Fenris.

"Personally," she said, "I don't consider magic extraneous in this case. Though you do have to be careful with rejuvenation. It's like… healing magic can mend breaks and tears but not strengthen muscle. Rejuvenation gives you the _feeling_ of energy but is no substitute for food and sleep."

"So it doesn't address the underlying cause of your weariness?"

"Something like that. My father said they told tales in the Circle, of mages who starved because they used the spell to do research around the clock, or who made foolish mistakes in their experiments through sleep-deprived overconfidence. His general rule of thumb was once on a strenuous day, twice under extreme circumstances, but no more."

Vi glanced over at the man walking beside her. He looked better — much better. His breathing was less raspy, he no longer favored the side with the injured knee, and he was listening to her story instead of just letting the words wash over him. In retrospect, she should have cast the spell for him yesterday — it might have helped.

"I kind of forget about it because… well, mages don't need it often. Magic expends a different sort of energy. Isabela was pleased when she found out about it, though," she added, smiling at the memory. "She was always asking me to spell her 'for stamina'… in a more recreational context."

Sebastian chuckled. She remembered he'd gotten along with the pirate surprisingly well, given the way she'd needled him. Vi had always envied his ability to keep his temper when teased, and hoped that he'd regain more of his equilibrium with time.

"I wouldn't do it, of course," she added. "At least… not often. Isabela can be very persistent."

* * *

><p>By late afternoon when they reached the top of the ridge, all of them were tired, spells and lyrium markings notwithstanding. They paused at the top to catch their breath, looking down into the valley beyond. It was lovely — a scattering of farms dotted with fruit trees, with forest around the edges. The air was hazy, catching the late afternoon sunlight with a golden glow. A breeze carried up the smell of woodsmoke with a hint of livestock. There were goats and cattle, separated by tall wooden fences from fields of grain that were blond and ready for harvest. At the far end of the valley, a silver thread of waterfall dropped from the cliffs beyond, before twisting along the valley floor and away to their right.<p>

"I imagine we should plan to camp up here, rather than near the houses," said Vi.

"But not on the ridge," said Fenris, leading them farther down the road. 

They soon found a reasonable spot to camp — a bit sloped and rocky, but mostly clear of brush, and set back behind a stand of oak trees which screened it from the road. They tied a rope between a tree and a scrubby but sturdy bush and hung the canvas for their tent over it, folding one end under to cover the ground below. The ends hung open to the air, but the weather was fine — it would keep off the dew and camouflage their presence well enough.

Fenris disliked the idea of lighting a fire where the residents in the valley below might see the smoke, and since the evening was warm enough, they did without. They made a cold meal of dried meat and flat cracker bread. The bread had started to go stale in the two days they'd been walking, but the flavor was still passable. Vi had flour and lard to make flatbread later on, but that would require a fire, which they probably wouldn't risk until they'd crossed the valley and climbed the mountain on the other side. Once they were away from the river valley, there would be few human settlements until they reached the coast. She hoped the cracker bread would last that long, and wondered if there would be any chance to barter for proper bread in the village. She already missed it. Sadly, they'd probably be better off trying to avoid notice. She'd have to do without.

"We'll want a watch?" she asked Fenris after they'd eaten.

"Yes."

"Then I'll take the first — you didn't sleep at all last night. When should I wake you?"

The sun was just about to set — no stars were out to mark the time. Fenris closed his eyes to think back to last night's sky.

"When the Warrior is over the waterfall," he said finally. "That should be shortly after midnight."

"I can take a watch," said Sebastian.

"No," Violet said, firmly but gently. She felt like she'd made some progress with him today and didn't want to backslide. All the same… "Speaking as your healer — you're exhausted and need sleep to get healthy." Before he could protest, she added, "Maybe in a few days. For now, I want that knee healed up and for that you need rest."

He frowned but did not argue.

Shortly after, Fenris crawled into the tent to sleep. In spite of her offer, Vi felt a pang of jealousy. She wasn't mentally tired, but her body ached to lie down. She'd need to be careful to stay alert on her watch. In the meantime, it was lovely here and she should enjoy it while she could see it.

"I'm going to watch the sunset," she said to Sebastian. "Want to come?"

They made their way back to the road and sat on a convenient fallen tree to watch the valley below fall into shadow. The base of the mountain disappeared in a purple haze as the sky began to color; first to greenish yellow and orange, then, as the sun slipped behind the mountain, a smear of pink.

At last the sky was purple-blue, tinged with only the faintest traces of light. Beside her, Sebastian was only a black shape in the growing darkness. She reached out gently and brushed his arm.

"Are you doing all right?" she asked.

"Tired. My knee aches a bit, but I think staying off it for the night will help."

"Good. But that's not what I meant."

"Ah." It was a long time before he continued, his voice rough. "I don't know. At times I feel… I don't know why I'm still here. So many have died." She heard his movement more than saw it as he rubbed at his face with his hands. "Sometimes I wish I'd been in the Chantry with Elthina," he whispered.

She felt a pang of sympathy. "Try not to wish for that," she said. "The Maker has a place for you, Sebastian, even if you can't see it."

"I know I should believe that. But…"

"You're here. Focus on that, if you can. The past is a minefield, and it's not where the answers are, I've found." She should know it; keeping focused on what was next was the only thing that got her out of bed, some days.

"Do you still pray?" she asked after a moment. His only answer was silence. "Maybe you should try."

"Says the apostate mage," he said with a quavering laugh.

"A fair point. I do pray, though. Not as often as Mother would've liked, but I do. I've spent a long time trying to reconcile my life with the Chantry's teachings." This wasn't a thing she talked about; not even to Fenris. But if it might help… and it was easier to say when it was too dark see his face. "I admit, it seems impossible. But the Chantry is run by people and people are not the Maker, no matter how hard they may try. When I read the Chant myself, I think maybe… With everything that I've been through, everything I've done — I'm still _free._ I think there's more for me to do. I think there might be a reason I'm still here. And if there's a reason, maybe there's a larger plan. Even if the Maker doesn't care for us anymore. Perhaps Andraste guides us now." She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's all nonsense."

"No," Sebastian said softly. "I do believe He has a plan for you. It is wise to take heart in that. You can do astonishing things; I've seen it myself."

She snorted. "You didn't see the mess I made of Kirkwall before I left." She trailed her fingers along the rough bark of the tree they sat on. "Who knows what we'll find when we get there; Varric's letters have been pretty vague. I know Aveline and Donnic are all right, and that rest of my friends got away, after. So that's something. I worry about Cullen sometimes. I still have no idea if they killed him or made him Knight-Commander." She remembered suddenly that Sebastian wouldn't know what she was talking about. It was odd that she could have forgotten, even for a moment. Perhaps she'd forgiven him after all. "Cullen defended me at the end," she explained. "Well. He let me escape. That likely amounts to the same thing in most people's eyes."

"He — why did he do that?"

She let out a short bark of laughter. "Don't sound so disappointed."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. You heard what happened to Meredith?"

"Nothing credible."

"There wasn't much credible about it. She'd been tainted with the red lyrium we found in the Deep Roads — she was the mysterious woman who'd bought it from Bartrand, apparently. It turned her… I don't know _what_ it turned her into. She wasn't like any kind of abomination I'd ever seen. It was horrible."

"And I wasn't there," he said bitterly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't. Really." She reached a hand out to find his arm in the dark. "It's all over now. The point is, we never know what's going to happen. Just because we can't see the pattern doesn't mean there isn't one." She squeezed his arm and then dropped her hand. "I know you don't wear Andraste on your belt buckle anymore, but try praying to her. I'd hate to see you lose your faith, Sebastian. I've always found it admirable. Even if I never said so."

There was a long pause. "Thank you," he said finally. "I didn't know that."

This conversation was getting way too maudlin. Time to put an end to it. Vi heaved herself to her feet. "Now. Bed for you, while there's still enough light to find the tent. Think about what I said, and I'll see you in the morning."

He stood up, lurching a bit as he tried to straighten his bad knee.

"How are you? Do you need…?"

"No. Thank you. It will be good to be off it for a while. I… thank you."

His footsteps crunched on the gravel at the side of the road before he stepped off into the soft leaf-covered ground of their camp.


End file.
